The night hums with danger. A smoky club, crowded with too many men in suits, voices thick with liquor and threats. Eli Bray sits at the head of the table like a king on borrowed territory, cigar burning low between his fingers, grin sharp enough to cut glass. Dean is at his side, the silent shadow he’s always been, shoulders squared and eyes scanning the room like he’s memorizing exits, counting targets. You’re there too, sequins catching the low light, perfume wrapping the space around you, smiling the way Eli likes—sweet, untouchable, a jewel that reflects his power.